In January 1994, the body and parts were shipped to Patrick’s Classy Cars in Phoenix for a ground-up restoration. Seven months later, the Impala, finished off in a gleamingly perfect coat of Arbor and Seafoam Green "Magic-Mirror" acrylic lacquer, was ready. Even after seven years spent collecting parts, seven months of restoration, and a total payout of about $50,000, Armstrong's Impala is an investor's dream: at the right auction, this car might fetch twice that amount.

The car looks brand-new. Gazing at the light-green interior with its evenly speckled green carpet, you almost don't want to disturb it by climbing in. Cars like this Impala sports coupe, with its airy greenhouse and uncluttered lines, must have seemed like fresh air to customers suffocated by the finned and chromed excesses of the late 1950s. Penned during design boss Bill Mitchell's glory days, it was a classic design of the sort that kept GM the powerhouse of American auto-makers for three decades. In 1961, Chevy alone owned one-fourth of the American car market.

The 409 was essentially a 348 given thicker cylinder sidewalls, bored and stroked to 409 cubic inches, and hastily engineered with heavier-duty bearings and impact-extruded aluminum pistons. The compression ratio was a lofty 11.3:1. A single Carter four-barrel carburetor fed an aluminum intake manifold. A longer-dura­tion, higher-lift camshaft operated solid lifters and the same 348 valves, but with stiffer valve springs, which allowed a 6000-rpm redline—in the clouds for a V-8 of the day. Gross horsepower came to 360 at 5800 rpm, with 409 pound-feet of torque available at 3600 rpm. Today's SAE-net standards would rate it closer to a Camaro Z28 LT1 V-8—perhaps 275 hp and 325 pound-feet of torque.

Ads in May 1961 declared that the mid­year Super Sport option package "could only be appreciated by a man who under­stands, wants, and won't settle for less than REAL driving excitement." For $54, buyers got SS emblems and special wheel-covers, a dashboard grab bar, a 7000-rpm tachometer, heavy-duty springs and shock absorbers, and power steering and brakes with Morraine "sintered-iron" drum brake linings on all four wheels.

Super Sport Impalas could be ordered with one of four V-8s, from a 305-hp, 348-cubic-inch "Special Turbo-Thrust V-8" to the "Turbo-Fire" 409, available only with a manual four-speed floor-shift. Of the 453 Impalas that left the factory with SS equip­ment that year, only 142 had the 409.

American cars used to be ordered à la carte. The executive responsible for Arm­strong's Impala indulged. Aside from the SS package, the 409, and the four-speed, the car also had a "Positraction" limited-slip differential, a DeLuxe air conditioner, an AM radio (with one speaker), tinted glass, two-speed wipers with washers, and a deluxe steering wheel. The car cost $3986 new.

A turn of the dash-mounted ignition switch cranks the big V-8 slowly, with a distant yelping, then the 409 fires up with a low boom. Standard dual 2.5-inch exhaust pipes bulge beneath the floorpan, gleaming in unrusted steel. They look out of place underneath the Impala's flanks.

"Everyone looks at them and thinks they're a mistake," Armstrong says. "But that's how they came from the factory." Despite the cavernous carburetor and high-lift cam, the 409 idles at a steady 750 rpm. The solid lifters give it a gritty, mechan­ical sound. The sweet smell of unburned gasoline soon permeates the air. Mention the words "emissions controls" or "cat­alytic converter" in 1961 and many folks would have labeled you a nerd, or worse, a Communist.

Despite the Super Sport's heavy-duty suspension, the car feels much like other American cars of the day: fingertip-light steering, a smooth but floaty ride, and lots of body roll. As if to contradict the rest of the car, the chrome shifter handle, topped off by a little white plastic ball, slices cleanly through its four gears.

When floored, the 409 spits out an angry clatter of knock and solid lifters, which changes to a healthy whoop from its unmuffled air cleaner as the revs climb. Armstrong's car grunts to 60 mph in 6.7 seconds and through the quarter in 15.2 seconds at 94 mph, slightly quicker than runs recorded by Motor Trend in 1961. With the pedal down, the SS409 sits up on its suspension and the steering gets even Fighter, giving it more the feel of a boat than a car. The sintered-iron brakes require heating up before they can stop the Impala with urgency. Even so, erasing 70 mph takes 253 feet, with concentration needed to prevent wheel lockup.

If this performance combination makes the SS409 sound more scary than legendary, remember that acceleration was a big deal in 1961. The 375-hp Chrysler 300G, a premier sport sedan for 1961, couldn't crack eight seconds to 60 mph. Keep in mind the 3700-pound Impala performs these tricks on BFGoodrich Silvertown 8.00-14 "narrow band" tires, with a measly five inches of tread width. The first two purchases for any racer of the lay would have been a set of slicks and 4.56 ring-and-pinion gears, which would lower acceleration numbers significantly.

Looking at the test numbers generated by the SS409 on our computer, Dale Armstrong chuckles. "Back in the Sixties, we couldn't imagine how cars could get any better than this in handling, power, or anything." A dozen years ago, after he had just completed a frame-up on his first 409, he took a spin in his pride and joy. "At first, I thought there was something wrong with it. I was expecting this great boom of acceleration like I remembered. It just wasn’t fast enough,” he says. “But after all those years, driving race cars over 250 mph, I guess nothing feels fast anymore.”

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